Though war is a bad thing, and should always be avoided except when absolutely necessary, we cannot withhold our admiration from the brave and noble men who fight the battles of their queen. Only fancy what must be the horrors of the scene, when ship meets ship, and broadside after broadside is poured along the deck, or up among the rigging when the noise of crashing wood and rending sails, and the boom of the destroying cannon, mingles with the shrieks of the wounded and the prayers of the dying. Nor is this all; sometimes companies of ships, to the number of twenty or more perhaps, meet an equal number of the enemy, when long and desperate battles take place upon the sea, till one or other side is conqueror.

The picture represents what is called a cuttingout expedition. When countries are at war all sorts of stratagems are resorted to.

On a still quiet night, when no moon is visible, there is a council held on board the frigate, when it is determined to attempt the capture of one of the enemy's ships by means of boats filled with armed men. Swiftly and silently the preparations are made, and the men and officers quietly take their places in the boats. There is no time to lose, and as soon as they are ready they row cautiously to where the enemy's vessel lies at anchor. There is not a word spoken, and nothing is heard save the gentle dip of the oars into the quiet water.

They soon reach the doomed ship, but not a movement among the sailors or marines shows the impatience which agitates their minds: they are too well disciplined for that. The officer in command whispers to his neighbour, and the word is quickly passed from boat to boat. In an instant they are at their several stations: a moment more, and the silence is broken by the report of a hundred guns.

The command to "board" is given, and sailors and soldiers are quickly scrambling up the sides of the enemy's vessel. Now comes a scene of fierce attack on the one side, and as determined resistance upon the other. The crew of the ship are instantly alive to their danger, and, as soon as the guns can be got ready, are firing upon the boats below. One shot, you see, has already taken effect; and staving in the bottom of the boat, the sailors are obliged to swim for their lives. Another boat's load are busily engaged in firing into the ship, upon whose deck a hand-to-hand battle is raging fiercely. Noise, bustle, and confusion reign supreme; and for an hour or more the deadly fight is going on: till, in spite of numbers and opposition, the British arms prevail; and on taking possession of the vessel three prolonged cheers proclaim the victory.

I might tell you of a great many battles both by sea and land in which our gallant countrymen have been engaged, but of those you will read as you grow older Besides, I would have you learn to detest war and fighting, which are, as I told you, very bad and horrible things.

64

MONUMENT TO

SHAKSPERE.

F course you will recollect I told you there were monuments of great and good men erected in Westminster Abbey; poets, painters, and historians, This

besides many others.

then, is the monument of Shakspere, who, you know,

was a great poet, and lived in the time of queen Elizabeth. He was born at Stratford-on-Avon, in Warwickshire, and when he was a man came to London and performed himself

in many of the beautiful and soul-stirring plays which he wrote. The old house at Stratford

in

which he first saw the light, and where he passed the time when he

was a little boy like some of you, is still standing, and is considered the most remarkable curiosity in the county. The Globe Theatre,

where he used to play, was situated in Blackfriars, or as some suppose, at Bank-side, near to Southwark bridge.

THE NATURALIST.

ID you ever hear the cuckoo? In the early spring morning, when the buds and the blossoms are beginning to

show themselves, and the wild convolvulus and marsh mallow are seen together on the green banks of country lanes, and the birds chirp and pair together, and commence building their little nests; and the buttercups and daisies deck the fields with brightness, the gentle note of the cuckoo may be heard from among the depths of green bushes, close at hand, in the distant meadow, or across the brawling stream.

This singular bird, which is somewhat like a magpie, and of a greyish colour, is distinguished from all other birds by its round prominent nostrils. Having disappeared all the winter, it discovers itself in our country early in the spring, by its wellknown call. Its note is heard earlier or later as the season is more or less forward, and the weather more or less inviting. From the cheerful voice of this bird the farmer may be instructed in the real advancement of the year.

These feathered guides

come to us heaven

taught, and point out the true commencement of the season.

The cuckoo, that was silent some time after its appearance, begins, at first feebly and at very

distant intervals, to give its call; which, as the summer advances. increases both in its frequency and loudness. This is an invitation to courtship, and used only by the male, who generally sits perched upon some dead tree or bare bough, and repeats his song, which he loses as soon as the genial season is over. His note is pleasant, though uniform; and seldom occurs to the memory without reminding us of the sweets of summer.

She

The female bird makes no nest of her own. repairs to the nest of some other bird, and having devoured the eggs of the owner, lays her own in their place. She lays but one, generally, which is speckled, and of the size of a blackbird's. This the fond foster-mother hatches with great assiduity, and seems to discover no difference in the great illlooking changeling and her own young. To supply this voracious creature, the credulous nurse toils with unusual labour, no way sensible that she is feeding up an enemy to her race.

The cuckoo, when fledged and fitted for flight, follows its supposed parent for a short time only; its appetites for insect food increasing, as it finds no great chance for a supply in imitating its little conductor, they part good friends, the step-child seldom offering any violence to its nurse. Nevertheless, all the little birds of the grove seem to

consider the young

cuckoo as an enemy, and revenge the cause of their kind by repeated insults. They pursue it wherever it flies, and oblige it to take shelter in the At the approach

thickest branches of some tree. of winter the cuckoo takes its departure to a warmer